


Pussycat in New York

by Hypatia_66



Series: An UNCLE Gazetteer [14]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: ABC Challenge, Cat Burglars, Community: section7mfu, Costumes, Episode Related, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ ABC Affair II. Cities A-Z. Prompt NIllya is asked to undertake a burglary wearing disguise. Reference to the "Off Broadway Affair".





	Pussycat in New York

Illya gulped and looked for succour and support from his partner– whose grin suggested it wouldn’t be forthcoming.

“You still have the outfit, I hope?” said Mr Waverly.

“Er, no, I haven’t. Do I really need one?” said Illya, desperately.

“Of course you do. You’d better go and get one – there are theatrical outfitters on every corner in New York City.”

Illya raised his hands in a gesture of appalled resignation. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And then,” Waverly continued, “your cat-burgling career may begin.” He waved them away and returned to the flashing panel in his alcove.

Head down, sunk in gloom, Illya walked down the corridor with Napoleon bursting with suppressed laughter beside him. In the elevator, falsely consoling, he said, “You did look very good in it, Illya.”

“Shut up.”

“You’ll be a girl-magnet at parties.”

“Shut up.”

“All girls like to stroke cats.”

“Shut up.”

“Can I come and help you choose one?”

“And if I said no?”

“Right, let’s go now.”

oo000oo

When Illya emerged from the changing cubicle, Napoleon whistled and, had there been claws on the costume, would have lost an eye or at least suffered a torn ear.

“Mister Mistoffelees, I presume,” he said.

“Mister Mistoffelees had seven kittens at the end of the poem,” Illya reminded him.

“Rumpelteazer, then – he was one of the cat burglars in the poem, wasn’t he? Rumpelteazer it is, then. Good name – suits you.”

“Are you going to join in this farce and accompany me as Mungojerrie?”

“Not likely – I can’t climb.” Napoleon beamed at the assistant and said, “We’ll take it.”

oo000oo

The house was dark, the path behind it was dark. An even darker shadow prowled along it and stopped at a drainpipe. Hands almost invisible under black greasepaint gripped it and the shadow began to climb, the lithe slender body moving effortlessly up the wall. Coming level with a window, it balanced one foot on a bracket and stepped onto the sill, to crouch delicately there and push the open window wider. It slipped in and insinuated itself through the drapes. A faint light from the open window revealed a sleeping figure in the bed. The shadow crept silently past it to the door and opening it, flitted out onto the landing and down the stairs.

The thin beam of a pencil torch lit its hand as it picked the lock of a desk drawer. The hand slid in to withdraw a file of papers and after a little search pulled one sheet from it.

Restoring the file, the shadow relocked the drawer and retraced its steps. The bedroom door had been left ajar. It entered noiselessly and approached the window where it was outlined against the night sky.

“Who are you?” came a whisper.

The shadow swung round, “Just a dream,” it said quietly. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not dreaming. I can see you.” A nightlight came on. Cat burglar and young woman stared at each other.

“I’m sorry to intrude into your dream.”

She slid out of bed and approached him. She must be sleep-walking – a young woman would scream, wouldn’t she? She came close and touched him. Stroked his arm, ran a hand down his body. He shivered. Right-minded girls didn’t do this kind of thing… but of course this was a Thrush household. There wouldn’t be any right-minded people in it. He looked down at himself. Damn. Even in this dim light the tight-fitting costume was revealing – he could have done the whole thing almost as easily wearing his ordinary suit.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Leaving.”

“But you’re a talking cat. I’d like to keep you.” Her hands caressed him all over, like people did with cats.

“Cats only talk in people’s dreams,” he croaked.

“Have you been stealing?”

“Looking for fish.”

“Cats sleep in people’s beds, too – would you like to sleep in mine?”

Good grief.

“No, I’m going. There’s no fish.”

“Then kiss me goodbye, pussycat.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

He kissed her cheek quickly and tried to pull free.

When she finally released him, a lot of pale skin was showing and his blond hair, no longer covered by the hood, was a tousled mess. But puzzlingly, she did let him leave. Perhaps she _was_ sleepwalking. Some sleepwalk.

oo000oo

“I found the formula,” said Illya as he got into the car. He pulled it out of the cat suit’s ears – had it been anywhere else, it wouldn’t have survived the recent assault.

“And you look like you had fun with the original Cat on a hot tin roof on the way – who won?”

“Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> The cat names are from T.S. Eliot’s 'Old Possum’s book of practical cats'.


End file.
